Painful Sort of Perfect
by writerofberk
Summary: Amidst jagged shards and broken pieces, Jackson learns the difference between pain and perfection. Set after the first book. Rated T for later chapters.


_**Painful Sort of Perfect**_

 **A/N: So this is my first NERDS fanfiction ever, and that's probably not the best introduction, but eh. What can you do. My older sister actually introduced me to this series when I was little, and I loved it all to pieces and now I'm older and it's so inappropriate for me to writing about fifth graders, but whatever xD I've had this idea in my head since like 2014, but just never got around to writing the first chapter in full - I kept writing half, decided I didn't like it, and binning it xD I haven't reread the first book in awhile, so I can't remember if the first book spanned a full year or not - all I remember was the principal, Mr. Dehaven, I think was his name, planning to make Jackson repeat fifth year, and then the dad brought in his dog Butch, and it said something like, "Ten minutes later, Jackson Jones moved up to sixth" xDDDD best line in the whole book. But we're going to pretend that the first book spanned two months, from September to October, and we're closing in on November now. So Jackson's been a member of the NERDS for about a month, maybe a little longer.**

 **This story is going to be darker as it goes on, but there's no need for warnings as of yet, and there won't be any swearing or sexual content. I mean, they're _ten_. Most kids at that age don't even know what sex _is_ , and only use the less intense swears, so I won't be dropping any F-bombs. Secret agents or not, they're still ten. **

* * *

At this point, Jackson Jones felt that he was more than used to saving the world.

Not every villain looked villainous; not every mission was exciting; not every gadget was breathtaking; and secret agent work was, without a doubt, a lot less glamorous than the books would have him believe. It was difficult and tiresome work; he couldn't even remember the last time he'd been awake enough to notice what he was eating, let alone been able to get his homework done without passing out somewhere in the middle of it.

But he was improving, and even his teammates admitted to it.

He could hold his own in a fight; fend Matilda off for a good hour or so; give a few dishonest answers to Ruby's more personal questions; avoid Duncan's tetherball for longer than anyone; catch every car Flinch threw at him. For the first time since he had joined the NERDS, he was doing something _right_ , and it felt amazing.

"Braceface!"

The name – the stupid, dorky code-name that he really didn't mind anymore, that made him feel like he belonged – gave him a sharp jerk, dragging him out of his thoughts and back into reality. Only to find that every other member of the team was staring at him.

"What?" He could feel the deep flush rising into his cheeks.

Pufferfish gave him a frosty look. "We're not off completely off the field yet, Braceface," she reminded him, and her tone was cooler than her eyes. "Pay attention to your surroundings."

"Sorry." He dropped his gaze to his knees; every time he started to feel like maybe he was one of them, another member was always right there to remind him _not yet_.

His teammate waved away the apology with a dismissive hand. "Take a look at this," she ordered, gesturing to the folder – the reason for their mission. The folder their former teammate, Heathcliff, was after.

Heathcliff Hodges, code-name Choppers, had once been a devoted member of the NERDS; two enormous front teeth rigged with hundreds of thousands of super-powered nanobytes had given him the ability to hypnotize and even control people. But a month previously, he had turned on his teammates and ordered them killed. With the help of a beautiful assassin called the Hyena, Jackson had managed to rescue his helpless teammates and defeat Heathcliff – there had even been two short, peaceful weeks in which they thought he was dead. But he wasn't. And he was still out there somewhere, plotting vengeance.

And they were secret agents, no matter their ages. It was their job to protect the world from Heathcliff's diabolical schemes.

Initially, Jackson hadn't thought much of the little manila folder they'd been sent to liberate – or actually, steal. But when Pufferfish settled the folder on her lap, flicked it open and scooted a few inches closer to him, he dropped his gaze to the papers within – most of the first page was taken up by crude sketches, and scribbled in the margins were cramped, complicated math equations, and senseless jargon.

Though if his teammates' stricken faces were anything to go on, that might not be jargon in the margins.

"What is it?"

"Choppers has gone over the edge," Gluestick muttered, almost to himself; he knelt down beside his fellow members.

" _Heathcliff_." When Pufferfish corrected him, her tone had an edge sharper than glass. "Heathcliff has gone over the edge."

The sudden silence descending upon the five preteens was unbearably tense; everyone avoided everyone else's gaze, and no one seemed to want to look at their leader. Perhaps the betrayal of the previous month had hurt her deeper than she wanted to admit.

Jackson opted to stare at the page instead of his teammates; the incomprehensible scrawls confronting him were like a slap in the face, delivered by the cruel hand of reality. He could fight bad guys, work his braces and go off on dangerous missions without a second thought, but he was still _stupid_. He wasn't smart like the others; they received perfect scores and perfect grades and took AP classes and enjoyed their homework, and had probably never struggled with math a day in their lives.

And Jackson…

Well, academics had never been his strong suit, and _that_ was putting it kindly. He still didn't fit in with the others, couldn't solve the equations or fully understand the technology within his braces. This was supposed to be a team of super geniuses, but the boy with the braces knew he definitely didn't fit that bill.

"Um…what…what is this?" he ventured cautiously; embarrassment twisted uncomfortably in his stomach when the others turned to look at him.

Gluestick leaned slightly toward his team member, jabbing a brown finger at one of the equations. "See that?"

Jackson nodded, awaiting further explanation, but none came. Evidently, that was explanation enough. He longed to make further inquiries, but fearing the disparaging looks, he kept silent.

"This is insane," Wheezer gasped. "I mean, sustaining this thing would take an enormous amount of energy…"

"I know," Gluestick replied. "And he's willing to run a constant risk…"

"I'm normally not known for sanity or good judgment," Flinch chipped in, "but even I can see that this is a bad idea."

As the others continued talking, Jackson quit listening, allowing his eyes to drift back to the page. There had never been much love lost between he and Heathcliff, but he still felt the sting of the other's betrayal.

"I don't know," Pufferfish suddenly announced, frustration clear in her voice. "I don't like it."

"I don't think anyone does," Jackson muttered.

She ignored him. "It was too _easy_."

Jackson shot her a look of disbelief.

"Think about it," she responded, catching his expression, "Heathcliff _wants_ this. This is what he's been focusing all his efforts on for the past month. And when Heathcliff wants something, he normally _gets_ it. Don't you think he would have been trying a little harder to lay hands on it?"

"You're right," Wheezer said, after a minute of thought. "Too simple."

"There should have been more of a fight," Pufferfish insisted. She turned her gaze back to the papers, and Jackson saw something flicker and soften in her eyes. "Heathcliff would have put up a fight." She sounded almost wistful.

An abrupt jolt prevented them from saying anything more; they must be coming in for a landing, so Jackson rose to his feet, beginning to gather his things.

Pufferfish remained behind a moment, shuffling the papers with slightly shaking hands before stuffing them back in the folder, taking to her feet and coming to stand by the others.

They had scarcely tumbled into the Playground before Ms. Holiday had reached them, practically trampling several underfoot scientists to do so. "How did it go? Are you all alright?" She brushed a bit of grime off the shoulder of Jackson's jacket as she spoke.

"Well? Did you succeed?" Never one to waste time with pleasantries, Agent Brand did not bother inquiring about the wellbeing of his team.

"Everything went fine," Pufferfish – Ruby, now that they were off the field – held the folder aloft so the two adults could see it. "We got the file and everything. The mission was a success." She lowered her gaze to the folder again, chewing her lip. Jackson could tell her thoughts were returning to Heathcliff, and the unsettling ease with which they had procured the file in her hand.

"Pufferfish?" Sensing her uneasiness, Brand raised an eyebrow. "Was there an issue?"

"No." Matilda answered for her friend. "Nothing."

"And that's what bothers me!" Ruby burst out, slamming the folder down suddenly upon a nearby table. "Why wasn't Heathcliff there? Any of his soldiers? Why didn't anyone slow us down, stop us, fight us, _something_? This is Heathcliff we're talking about!"

"You're saying it was too easy," Brand clarified, eyes narrowed.

"Exactly," Ruby seized upon the subject with apparent relief. "It's not like Heathcliff to just—

A sudden, shrill shrieking noise cut through their conversation; it had Jackson turning his head, startled, to look at the scientist from whose desk it was emitting.

"It's one of our alarms," Ms. Holiday hastily explained to the curious boy. "It's most likely another mission warning – obviously, one of the cameras picked up on an important conflict somewhere, and is trying to alert us. Dr. Collins will explain the situation when he fully understands it."

"Couldn't have picked anything more subtle, huh?" Jackson raised an eyebrow, before the scientist in question came shuffling over to them, nervously wringing his hands.

"E-excuse me, Agent Brand?" The man appeared nervous, and Jackson couldn't blame him; Brand could be pretty scary at times. But the ex-agent sent the doctor a nod, prompting him to go on.

"There's been a warning," Dr. Collins informed them tensely. "It was for…for one of the children."

"What are you talking about?" Brand jumped in before the other man could finish, eyes flicking once to Ruby, then to Jackson, before settling back on the scientist.

"There's been…an attack."

Instantly, the group exploded, the Playground ringing with the frantic cries of the agents.

"What?"

"Attacked?"

"Who was it?"

"Are they okay?"

"Who?"

"What happened?"

"It was the Jones family, Agent Brand." Dr. Collins addressed the veteran spy when he spoke, despite that it was the children speaking.

In that moment, it seemed to Jackson as if the world had stopped spinning. The earth paused, frozen in rotation, and the boy could barely breathe. Fear, sharp and icy and unbearable as the first freeze jolted through him. Voices echoed in the background, a constant and reassuring thrum.

"…don't yet know the extent of the attack…"

"…father is unharmed…"

"…completely demolished…"

"…Jones is in…bad condition…"

This pushed Jackson back into reality; swallowing, he choked out, "B-bad condition?"

"Where are they?" Brand demanded immediately. "Have they moved? Messed with anything? Have the police shown up yet?"

"Not yet."

"Bad condition?" Jackson repeated, heart pounding uncomfortably fast in his chest.

"Tell them to stay put!" Brand barked. "We'll send agents out to collect them."

"What's going _on_?" Jackson demanded, frustrated beyond endurance.

Brand caught him by the shoulders, locking eyes with the child. "Your family's been attacked." The words came out quickly and gruffly; looking at the man's impassive face, one would think he did not care.

"What'd they do? Are they okay? Why were they attacked?"

"Stay calm, Braceface," Brand warned.

"We don't yet know all the details—

"Just tell me what's going on!"

"Nobody's taken stock of the injuries yet," Dr. Collins explained quietly. "But we believe Chaz Jones was hurt."

" _What's happened to my brother?"_ The fear had reached an unbearable level, and Jackson knew he was shaking.

"There hasn't been time—

"Why can't we _make_ time?" He was desperate, panicking, near-pleading; wrenching his shoulder suddenly from Brand's grip, the boy began to pace between the rocket and the wall, but even movement brought no relief.

"Jackson." Ms. Holiday rested a hand on his shoulder, her voice soft. "They're going to be okay. They haven't had much time to collect their bearings, that's all."

The boy felt himself relax a little under the librarian's touch; all the fight left him, and he didn't even have enough energy to argue. "Okay," he nodded, wanting her words to be true so badly it hurt. "Okay."

Ms. Holiday guided him carefully over to one of the chairs, and he was aware of suddenly being seated, of cool metal and hard plastic under him, and his teammates taking seats around him, but he couldn't think. His mind was blank, yet overrun with desperation and fear. It was a haze, a blur, raw panic.

He would take his father's stern looks and harsh punishments. He would take another million comparisons between him and his brother, so long as it meant his dad was okay.

He would take Chaz's teasing, another hundred thousand comments about his braces and grades and general existence, so long as it meant his brother was alright.

No, he couldn't even entertain an alternative. He needed them to be alright. He couldn't stand it if they weren't.

Jackson didn't know how long he sat there. Jackson didn't know what to do. He didn't know anything.

All he knew was fear.

Until the static.

Before Jackson even knew what was happening, a camera had clicked on, projecting a grainy image of three anxious adults in black bodysuits.

"Any sign of the perpetrator?" Brand barked, tapping his cane on the floor.

"No," the woman addressed him, shaking out a mane of long blond hair. "He was long gone by the time we got there, but that's to be expected."

"The family stayed put, though?"

The woman shook her head. "Arlington Hospital."

Jackson tore his gaze from his knees to stare at her.

"Perhaps it was for the best; the boy was badly hurt, and his father might have saved his life with the decision to disobey orders."

"A _public_ hospital?" Brand practically snarled.

To her credit, the woman didn't flinch in the face of his anger. "Agent Brand, the boy required medical attention that we are currently unable to administer. And in this case, bigger might be better. Visitors every hour, thousands of nurses, doctors…Heathcliff won't have another chance to strike, for the moment."

Brand set his jaw, a clear sign he was unhappy. "Don't let Mr. Jones leave the premises. When the place closes, get him to the Playground."

"Yes, sir." The woman nodded, and the camera went black.

"H-hospital?" Jackson stuttered, rising to his feet. "My—my brother's in the _hospital_ now?"

"Braceface—

Jackson didn't wait for the inevitable refusal; he just bolted across the room, straight to the door, violently pressing the button, and waiting what seemed an agonizingly long time for the heavy metal panel to slide smoothly apart, creating an opening.

Before he could plunge through, Agent Brand grabbed him by the sleeve, forcing him to a standstill. "Calm down, Braceface."

"I have to see him! That's my _brother_!" Jackson twisted in the ex-spy's iron grip, turning to face the man.

"I understand," Brand responded, but his eyes betrayed aloofness, a detachment. "But a public area isn't a guarantee of safety."

"I know, I've got my braces—

"So be careful out there, agent."

Understanding pierced his panicked fog slowly, but when it had, he nodded. Brand's grip slackened, and the boy raced away, up the stairs and out of the Playground.


End file.
